Flashbacks of a Young Minister

Summer 1878

It's counterproductive to mumble over and over ad nauseum life's not fair. But it isn't. What happened to me. What happened to us. What happened to her. What happened to them. What happened.

"Papa, did you see that?" My daughter yells gleefully at me, those dark brunette braided pig tails swinging to the beat of her effervescent demeanor. She's skipping along the banks of a shallow creek, gingerly holding the faded milky brown calico hem of her dress so that it doesn't get soiled by the mud. The little girl stops and stares directly at me.

Gazing into those long lashed, light hazel eyes brings me back. Haunts me. As a father, I must hide behind the inscrutable veneer of strong Papa makes it all alright. I must never show Lily my feelings, my weakness, or I'll break. I've already broken down once before. In the church tent smack dab in the middle of that godforsaken nomadic town. It's inconceivable to go down that road again. Protecting myself, not letting my guard down, means protecting me. Protecting me means protecting my family. My arms are my daughter's harbor, always open. My soul is my sanctuary, always closed.

I'm not the same person I once was. To be candid, I don't recognize who I am anymore. I guess all I am now is a father raising his only daughter. No, I haven't been the same since–

"Papa, lookee!" Lily squeals. "Anuther one! Oh, they're sooo adorable!"

Of course, the child's perpetual squealing spooks the doe and her two fawns from grazing far on the other side of the bank. Petrified, the deer race away toward a hill, climbing in such a hurry only to careen down the next hill until they are out of sight, safe from harm's way of an excitable almost ten year old girl.

Huffing, Lily puts her hands on her hips, pursing her rosebud mouth to let me know she's annoyed "her friends" left.

"They're only deer, little one," I reassure her. "Come, it's time to get back to the cabin. I need to get supper going. Star Dancer will not be dropping off food tonight." Already not looking forward to dried pemmican and stale biscuits, I crouch down and pick up my pack.

"The fawns are lucky," Lily mutters behind my back.

Surprised, I turn around to look at her for answers. "Lucky about what, little one?"

"Lucky they have a mama," she gripes. "I want a mama. It's not fair. I want a mama."

"During the summer when we live in the Long Country, Star Dancer is … sort of your mama. She takes care of you when I'm busy hunting or trading." I nod, satisfied. "And during the winter, Reverend Masterson's wife, Mrs. Masterson, well, she is sort of your mama."

Not buying my answer, Lily defiantly purses her lips in that way that conjures up haunting memories of her mother. "It's not the same. Star Dancer and Mrs. Masterson … they're nice. They're not Mother. Do you remember your mother, Papa?" Her saucer eyes seem to get bigger with her prying question.

"Yes, I remember my mother," I reply slowly. "She was a warm lady. A good nurturer."

"I wish I remembered my mother," she sighs, saying so forlornly it gets under my skin.

"No, you don't wish you remembered your mother," I snap, slinging my pack over my shoulder before sternly nodding my head in the direction of home, up the hill, through the woods, down the narrow path that leads to our one-room cabin.

Furious, Lily stamps her feet. "Well, I do!" I watch my daughter storm past me.


Bedtime is my saving grace. I watch my daughter sleep peacefully on her pillow in the old brass bed. Pulchritudinous she is when she sleeps. Pulchritudinous like her mother was. It's not fair. It's not fair what happened. I stare at glowing embers underneath burning logs about to become embers themselves. I lose myself in my gaze, remembering a different time … a forbidden time before my whole world shattered …

It was the summer of 1866 and the country was still coming to grips from the War Between Brothers. While the South picked up the pieces calling it Reconstruction, the North went back to business as usual. While the West expanded with more immigrants, cunning businessman from the East invested in the Central Pacific and Union Pacific Railroads. A transcontinental road constructed of steel tracks made a smoky path for the most dangerous sight to my people: the Iron Horse.

I was a young preacher man, struggling to find my place in Hell on Wheels. A man ostracized by my blood father because I chose the life of the cross, because I killed my brother Pawnee Killer. Reverend Cole replaced me with bottles of that repulsive corn likker. I didn't have anyone except Ruth.

Ruth. Now, I can't even bare to utter that cursed name. Except in my mind. She was my dear. The only one who saw Black Moon, the man, not Joseph Black Moon, the Indian in town. I should have used better judgement. Those Coles duped me. Reverend Cole duped me into leaving my Cheyenne life to transition into the White world that would never accept me. Ruth Cole duped me into giving my heart to her only to have it crushed in a most heartbreaking, painful way that has scarred me for life.

Oh, Ruth. The secret life we lived that summer. It was beautiful. By day, we stuck to our routine of cleaning the church, I would give biblical sermons on the street to passerbys, Ruth would be my pupil to become a minister herself, and then there was more cleaning the tent thanks to that filthy town. Sweeping the dust out was as tantamount as to whitewashing a fence. That's what the good ole Reverend once said.

As soon as dinner was put up, nightly bible studies were over, and Reverend Cole was passed out after succumbing to the last drop of liquor, I would sneak into Ruth's tent. The two of us always kissed with desperation as we pawed each other's clothes off. From there, I would lay with her, feeling like a man being with his wife. I showed Ruth my love through my ravenous lust for her. Kissed her neck while she tossed her head back in forth, trying in vain to keep her moans low. God, I loved the way it felt. The way we danced in our nakedness, coming together spiritually under the covers, doing what Adam and Eve first did. Ruth made me feel like a man.

Yet, I knew our nightly routine was a sin. That we were sinners. But the man in me couldn't deny myself the carnal pleasure I sought with Ruth, that I had with her. We were so careful in the day. I tried not to touch her, not even take her hand in mine. If anyone should suspect, it would be all over. I was convinced no one knew. Hell, I was convinced Reverend Cole was so inebriated he had no idea what was going on. No one knew. The townsfolk were all busy with their own lives. Not even poor Mrs. Bell knew, for she was shacked up with Mr. Durant and too busy with railroad business, I guess. I sensed Ruth disapproved of that coupling but she never said anything aloud for we were just as guilty.

I got so comfortable, I, Black Moon, could drop hints at my Ruthie once in a blue moon. There she was, looking like an angel in the dusty streets. She was in the corner of my eye but I pretended not to see her, going along in my sermon. Ruth's green piping lined black cape shrouded her burgundy calico print voluminous dress that flapped in undulating waves from the stiff wind. Her strawberry blonde curls peaked out of her severe black bonnet. If I looked at her, I feared I would lose my breath.

"I'd like to talk to you about the love of Christ, brothers and sisters," I shouted full of conviction. "Be firm, be watchful! Stand firm in your faith!" I gripped my black bible and shook it at the heavens. "Act like men!" A hateful man shoved by me yet I kept my cool. "Be strong!" Another hateful man shoved by me. Dealing with prejudice, I swallowed back my pride and building anger for those hateful folks were all but lost sheep to me.

Not about to back down, I persevered in my preaching while other townsfolk either ignored me, walking hurriedly along or gave me scornful glances. "And seeing her, he said," I shook my bible firmly with every syllable of scripture, while turning around, my gaze fell on Miss Cole's angelic beauty. "Take heart, daughter … "

Ruth stopped to gaze back at me, her hazel eyes beaming with love, and I knew it was love. That much about her was genuine, so I believed.

"Our faith has made you well," I preached to her, the only one who willingly listened. "And the woman was made well." There. I had dropped my hint at how beautiful I beheld for her. So deeply in love. I wanted Ruth to know it. That I appreciated every bit of her.

She walked by me and I just knew that I touched her profoundly. The rest of my words were robbed from my brain. I lost that breath as I yearned dearly for my dear, impatient about being with her in the night by the light of the lantern.

I watched her dress sweep particles of dirt from the road as she made her way over to the untrustworthy McGinnes brothers. I didn't trust Mickey. Sean, even less so. As I found the words to my sermon, I picked back up where I left. I said words about love, salvation, and forgiveness. But my eyes remained on Ruth. It didn't sit well with me the way Sean McGinnes leered at my woman. Yes, Ruth was mine. Not his.

The church was late on the rent, again. It didn't sit well with me how opportunistic Sean McGinnes was with Ruth. Tithes just weren't coming in. The majority of Hell on Wheels chose sin over salvation. We needed a faithful flock. God, I hated watching Ruth converse with that artful Irishman. Don't trust him!

That lecherous grin he made at Ruth provoked me into roughly curling my fingers into the worn leather bible. I bit back anger and preached louder than before.

"Being then made free from sin, ye became the servants of righteousness!" I shouted at a passing, scantily clad dove.

She cackled, revealing her disgusting tobacco stained teeth. Looking past her, my gaze fell on that sweet angel, making her way back up the dusty street, bound for the church.


Listlessly, I stir my tea as I read by the light of a flickering fireplace and steady lantern. It's Jonathan Swift's Gulliver's Travels. I'm barely making it a paragraph into chapter two. Over and over, I reread the same sentence. But I can't help it. My mind keeps drifting. Drifting back to that time. That image. That image of forbidden young love in the dark of night.

She lied to me that very evening. Not embellished. Lied. Consumed by lust, she waltzed straight into my room with those sultry eyes full of want. All I could think of was Reverend Cole on the far side of the tent. The partitions no longer stood in the private quarters. It was one long room. The brass bed of mine was barely shrouded by canvas. On the far side of the tent, dimly lit by lantern, Father reposed against the floor on his side, curled up with his corn likker bottle. He was quiet but I was certain he wasn't asleep.


"But Ruth," I whispered my protest, "your father is on the other side. It's-it's not careful. If Father is roaming around outside in his drunkenness, then fine. But he-he is … right here! It's not proper!"

Ignoring me, she plucked the pins out of her head, making those strawberry blonde curls tumble gracefully down. I watched Ruth divesting herself of her everyday burgundy dress, hoop skirt, petticoat, corset, chemise, pantaloons, all of it, until I saw nothing but pale alabaster flesh. "I want you now, Joseph!" She whispered. "Don't worry, Father is intoxicated. He will never suspect a thing. Now!"

The raw man in me chose to ignore my trepidation over the openness of the church tent. It was late. No one would suspect. Hopefully I thought. I didn't know. But my hands found my suspenders, shoving them down. Ruth helped me out of my clothes while I kissed her so sweetly on the lips. I can still remember the aroma of rosewater on her. She climbed on my bed, leaning her body against my pillow. The lantern on the nightstand gave an uncomfortable amount of glow to the room. Perhaps had it been pitch black, I would not have suffered from such consternation over sinning with the lights on.

Like Adam did with Eve, his earthly wife, I lied with Ruth, holding her waist while she gripped my broad shoulders underneath my arms. Mouth pressed against my shoulder muffled her steady moans. I closed my eyes, diving deep for forbidden pleasure that I couldn't live without. The kind of pleasure that consumed my thoughts all day long.

God, I remembered the satisfaction I got coursing all over my body, making me tremble as I increased speed, making my dear Ruth gasp. It felt so good I bit my lip until I tasted blood. This is what Ruth did to me. This is what brought me to this. I think about moments like this in my life, begging for regret, only regretting that I still cling to these prurient memories.

I'm watching the flickering flame as I swallow the last sip of lukewarm tea. Still remembering how wonderful it felt for Ruth to run her dainty fingers through my dark hair, pulling my bangs out of my eyes. I felt love in her hands which only provoked me to move faster, breathing heavier. I gave my heart and soul to her most nights, like that night. My heart was kindled as I watched her hazel eyes widen while she trembled so, muffling her climax into my shoulder. Touched, I smothered her mouth with mine, finding my own way to heaven as I quivered until I was still and tired. Very tired.

I yawn. Why do I brood over this woman? This jezebel that led me into temptation. That made me a sinner. That influenced my life so that I hate my very existence. I was so stupid. So gullible. And yet, here I am, watching my daughter, our daughter, sleep like an angel. A little girl full of innocence and wonder. I cannot let the evil's of the world influence her. I don't want the Christian religion to influence her.

But I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place. Obligated to Reverend Masterson in the winter months for his charity to my family, my family of two. I blame God for what happened to me. I blame my people's Gods for what happened to me. At the juncture where I am presently in, I just don't know what to believe anymore. The only thing I do know is that I have a purpose in life. And that purpose is Lily Black Moon. My little girl. Keep her safe. Keep her loved. That is my duty.


*Note* Off to a new adventure with our man, JBM! :-)